


Haze

by mini_puffs



Series: In Hindsight [4]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27755131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mini_puffs/pseuds/mini_puffs
Summary: The explosion sends him into the sea where fish swim.
Series: In Hindsight [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1979266
Comments: 6
Kudos: 63





	Haze

**Author's Note:**

> aka when a ghost pops up because her ex/husband just exploded everything but accidentally meets the wrong person
> 
> tw mentions of implied abusive relationships

The armor, Quackity thinks as the ground beneath his feet explodes and sends him flying through the air, was pretty useful while it lasted. He’s used Netherite once or twice, complained about it a lot since geez, who the fuck has the time (and patience) to go to the nether, where it’s full of fucking lava, and mine there for hours? Psychopaths, that’s fucking who. The list of curses he lets out is colorful enough to paint the flag of Pogtopia and to warrant a bar of soap being shoved in his mouth as he gets a good view of the land and water below.

(If only his wings weren’t pinned back.

Then he could fly.)

Squeezing his eyes shut, he braces himself for the plunge, the trident in his hands heavy. At the very least, can the water not be cold? His wings beat against the armor helplessly, and Quackity screams and stomach drops until—

—until something grabs the tip of the trident and hauls him up, up, up, onto a wooden deck, harsh sunlight almost blinding him and the floor swaying back and forth he’s going to be sick. The explosions are gone, nothing but a former echo, and there’s ocean as far as he can see. Quackity blinks the tears away to rub at his eyes, the salty stench of the sea almost a slap to his face.

“What the—“

“Woah, careful there.” A hand rests on his shoulder and Quackity  _ totally _ doesn’t yelp and scurry to the other side of the boat. Since when-- “Coulda got your feathers wet.”

“My--” He turns around. His wings are there, outstretched and a glittering gold against the blue sky. The armor is gone. “What—how the hell—“ He was falling ten seconds ago, the explosions, the revolution—

“Bird boy.” Quackity snaps his head up fast enough to give him whiplash, shadows casting over a figure walking towards him. Ha. Birdboyhalo. Now that’s fucking hilarious. He’ll have to mention it to Bad later.  _ If  _ there’s a later. “Duck. I dunno, I don’t care. But hey, I’m here to help you, c’mon.”

“Help with what?” Quackity asks. The figure looms over him like one of Tommy’s ridiculously tall towers and he inches back and gulps. Oh, he is dead  _ dead.  _ “Hey, come on—AGH!”

A diamond sword wedges into the wood and the figure crouches down. Quackity can see his reflection in the blade, all wide eyes and fear that he jerks his head away instead. He’s been in this position before, in the White House, only it would’ve been words instead of weapons.

(Weapons still would’ve hurt less.)

There’s a new voice. “Saaaally, I don’t think that’s him.”

“I know.” From the figure in front of him. “I know that. They’ve got the same hats though.” They tap his knee and Quackity flinches. “Jumpy too.” Another tap. “Open your eyes. You’re fine.”

“No, I’m not,” he says, but compiles anyway. “What the fuck is—“

The words die in his throat.

Red. Faded red hair, like dried up blood left on the side of fresh wounds. It spills past her shoulders and loose linen dress onto the ship deck, and if she laid back with the sword at her side Quackity wouldn’t be surprised if somebody mistook it for a murder. Her eyes are sharp and pierce right through his soul, the sides of her face a pale green. The more he squints the more he can see small glimmers on her cheeks. Fish scales, but the woman wipes her face off with her sleeve and they’re gone.

Holy.

Fuck.

Shit.

“Ah, you’re good,” the woman says. “Sorry if we scared ya.”

She smiles. There’s a hint of sadness to it, the expression both comforting and concerning at the same time. His stomach twists as his mind swims with questions.

“Wait. I know you from somewhere!” Quackity blurts out. “Someone?”

It’s subtle, but she stiffens. “No.” 

“That’s fucking bullshit.”

“Ha, no. We promised—“ Something flickers across her face, “— _ he _ promised we’d never tell anybody—“

Ohohoho. “He?”

Her body goes even more rigid. Fuck the revolution, what’s going on here?

“Look, kid—“

Aaaand the matter is dropped entirely.

Quackity scoffs, which is probably he shouldn’t be doing to someone who’s saved his life. He is not a kid. The only kids here are Tommy and Tubbo, and heck, they’ve probably got enough trauma to skip past their childhood at this point. He was vice president at one point, second in command, even got divorced twice and technically widowed since Schlatt—

Schlatt.

He doesn’t realize he’s said all of that out loud until the woman’s staring at him with a look akin to pity. “I was married once,” she remarks. “Had a kid too. Furry little thing.” She holds her arms apart as if to show him. “Probably twice my size now. Wish I could say the same for my husband.”

“I ate mine,” he says casually, as if they were discussing the weather. Speaking of which, is getting very hot. Sweat rolls down the side of his face. “He was already dead though but—“

She wolf-whistles. “Damn. Betcha danced on his grave and sang too, huh?”

Something like that. “Fuck yeah.”

“Got a song right now?”

“Uh.” Quackity rubs the back of his head. “Lemme think. Chat, put your ideas out there.” To her, he mimics strumming. “You wouldn’t happen to have…?”

She shakes her head. “No instruments on this ship,” she says. “Sorry.”

He was pushing his luck anyway. “Damn. Anyway—row, row your boat gently down the stream,” he sings, bopping his head side to side with the sway of the boat. “Fuck your ex-husband, don’t get married.”

The woman stares at him for a long moment, eyebrows knitted in curiosity, and Quackity almost thinks she’s going to throw him back overboard until she outstretches her hand to him and, “I like you, kid.” There’s a grin on her face, eyes sparkling. 

Quackity mirrors it. “Heh, thanks. I like you a lot too, do you wanna—“

“Join my crew? We could use the company.”

“Oh.” He blinks. “Uh wait, I need to think.” Think? Since when the fuck does he think? Hello, there’s a beautiful single pirate in front of him asking if he wants to join her crew and he’s thinking??? What the fuck?? His mouth is moving on its own against the protests in his mind. Like it’s scripted. “I...I have to go back.”

He braces himself for a hit, a yell, a sword going through his stomach or—

“Thought ya would say that,” the woman says, wiping off her palms on her shirt and turning on her heel. No. That’s not how this is supposed to go. The scream is in his throat but his mouth clamps shut.  _ Wait, wait, wait, where are you going, don’t go— _ “I still have to find  _ him _ before it’s too late.” She takes one last look at him, eyes filled with pity. “You should hurry,” she murmurs. “You’ve been here for a while.”

_ Here, where? _ He wants to scream, but her figure fades into the sea breeze, another haze in the summer sun. No, no, no, come on— 

_ “Hey—“ _

The ship deck below him also fades, his body plunging into the water with Netherite armor nearly sinking him to the seafloor, noiseless screams ripping out of his throat while explosions sound above. A shadow passes over him, and fish swim around as if to guide him up, up, up, back to land, and back to the battle at hand. 

**Author's Note:**

> yeah no idea lmao i just wanted to write about sally fish pirate salmon


End file.
